


Paint Me A Rainbow And Call Me A Cab, Part Two

by kuonji



Series: Paint Me A Rainbow And Call Me A Cab [2]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conversations, Episode Related, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-20 06:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8239934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuonji/pseuds/kuonji
Summary: Ken hadn't thought he'd see Dave Starsky again, but apparently the Bay City cop isn't done surprising him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The episode in which we meet John Blaine, "Death In A Different Place", originally aired Oct 15 1977, thirty-nine years ago today.

The phone was on its fifth ring before Ken dashed, hair still dripping, from the bathroom. "Dammit, Charlie, you're half an hour early!" he snapped, the usual pre-show jitters making him irritable.

There was silence for a moment over the line, and then a hesitant voice queried, "Ken? Uh, Hutchinson?"

Ken shifted gears quickly. Although it was late and a weekend day, the nature of his business tended toward a seven-day, odd hours work week. There was always the possibility one of his clients might call, but he couldn't place the voice. "Speaking. Who's this, please?" he asked, cautiously polite.

"I'm David. From... the Green Parrot."

When the name clicked, Ken actually took the receiver away and stared at it in amazement. He remembered Dave taking his business card a month ago, but he'd never dreamed he would actually call here. Hastily replacing the phone against his ear, he said, "Dave! Hi! Uh, I'm kind of in the middle of something here..."

A rueful chuckle. "Yeah, I figured. Never mind, I'll--"

"What did you call about?"

Another long silence. Ken put the end of the towel he'd slung over his neck to the back of his head, soaking up the water. He didn't dare scrub the towel over his hair, though, in case the noise caused him to miss anything Dave might say. Indeed, the cop's voice was soft and somber when his answer came:

"I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting together. I, I'd like to talk a bit. You know. Thank you for showing me your studio. My, uh, workplace doesn't really allow tours like yours does" -- Ken couldn't help but smile at Dave's self-deprecating laughter -- "but how about lunch? Say, tomorrow?"

Briefly, Ken was stymied for an answer. In a different tone, from a different man, that would have been an invitation to a date, and he would probably have dismissed it quickly with an easy excuse.

Dave, however...

"I've got the grand opening for the show I told you about in an hour. And then I'll probably be stuck schmoozing into the rest of the night, so I'm counting on a late morning. Would one o' clock be too late?"

"One would be great. Want me to pick you up?"

"Sure. You remember the way here?"

"Yup."

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah. See you, Ken."

"Bye."

Ken hung the phone up slowly. Opening day was never normal, but today seemed downright surreal.

The blare of the phone ringing again made him jump. "Hutchinson's Studio," he answered, this time taking care to be courteous.

"Well, aren't we formal?" came Charlie's voice. "Listen, I'm coming over early. I need to borrow a bowtie."

"Why the hell do you need a bowtie?" he growled, instantly falling back into his usual tone of voice.

"It's tradition, isn't it?"

"You're not an artist!"

"But I'm an artist's best friend. I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

He let the familiar back and forth of their argument carry him back into the grooves that Ken Hutchinson was meant to tread.

***

A fire engine red sports car with a white swoop painted on the side pulled to a screeching stop in front of him, causing him to jump backwards even though he was standing on the curb.

"Where'd you learn to drive!" he yelled.

"Would you believe, New York City?"

Ken blinked at the cocky Eastern drawl. He bent down to look through the window and saw Dave Starsky grinning at him from the driver's seat.

"This is your car?" he asked, dumbfounded, as he gingerly settled himself into the passenger's side of the bench seat. The car took off almost before he'd closed the door, throwing him back with a squeak of surprise that he hoped Dave didn't hear.

"Yup." Dave patted the rumbling dash as if stroking a prized race horse.

"And you couldn't find this monster at the Green Parrot lot? There couldn't have been more than a dozen cars, and this striped tomato should have stood out like a sore thumb!"

Dave cut him a frosty look. "I wasn't exactly at my best. And watch what you call my car."

"Are you sure you're a detective?" Ken couldn't help needling. "If a man can't even find his own-- _whoa_!" He gripped the assist handle, white-fingered, as Dave swerved the car sharply.

"Got anything else to say, Kenny-boy?"

Ken glared at the smirk on the other man's face, but he kept his mouth shut.

After a while, the purr of the engine coupled with ample legroom and the comfortable smell of the leather seats started to grow on him. It helped that Dave didn't attempt any more daredevil antics. He relaxed and took his first good look at the man.

He sported the same brown leather jacket -- this time over a green T-shirt -- and the same tight jeans. He looked as vibrant as he had the first time Ken and he had met, and still with a trace of that aura of anger. The intervening weeks seemed to have done him good, however. The visage of grief no longer seemed to crush him down.

Evidently noticing him looking, Dave shot him a particularly sunny smile. Even then, there was a slight tightness to him. Ken wondered what the man wanted to talk about. He didn't think this was an idle lunch. It was a bit late for the show of gratitude Dave had pretended it was, and they certainly didn't know each other well enough to while away a lunch hour alone together just for no reason.

Ken mentally shrugged. He would only give himself white hairs thinking about it.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"There's an Italian place that's really great. Best linguini I've ever had. My partner--" That tightness seemed to stop him. "We used to eat here all the time," he finished, much more subdued.

The restaurant was popular enough that they had to circle the block twice to find a parking spot despite the late hour. Dave was back into a chatty mood by the time they got inside and were shown officiously to a table for two.

"My grandmother used to live above an Italian restaurant," he said, smiling fondly at the memory. "I used to visit her all the time, and mmm, it would always smell terrific."

Ken couldn't help but smile along with the man. Dave was an intriguing mix of wise, hardened cop, and guileless, playful boy. He gestured at the retreating maitre d'. "Did we just cut in line? She seemed to know you." That was putting it lightly. She had been exuberant.

Dave glanced at the lady and shrugged. "I helped them out a while ago."

Ken waited for him to go on, intrigued.

Dave picked up the menu to half-hide behind it. He coughed uncomfortably. "There was a... situation. Some guys were waiting to gun down a mob boss, so they took all the customers here hostage until the guy they were waiting for could show up. They probably weren't planning on leaving any witnesses either."

Ken shuddered. "And you were one of the cops who got them out of the jam?"

"In a way of speaking. I was one of the hostages." Dave peeked over the menu. "I got the barmaid to help me out, and we took out the guys before the mobster showed up."

Ken stared in shock. "Just the two of you?"

"My girlfriend fainted. That helped a lot, actually." Dave grinned.

"Wait, wait. How many guys were there?"

"Three."

"And you and your girlfriend and some barmaid took them all out?"

Dave shrugged again, but this time his smile looked more smug. "It was mostly me, really." He buffed his nails on his shirt. "I've got priority seating here for the rest of my life."

Ken wasn't sure how much of the story he should believe, but there was no doubt Dave was a celebrity here. The waiter who took their orders was all solicitous smiles as well. The more he kept company with Dave Starsky, the more he found he had to discover.

Ken ordered a house salad and the linguini with clams for his main course, which caused Dave to smile, for some reason. Dave ordered a chicken parmigiana.

It wasn't until Ken started on his salad that Dave finally said, in a serious voice, "I'm getting a new partner tomorrow. Paperwork's all done. Captain says he's got someone who'll be good for me." He snorted. "Whatever that means." Popping a slice of cucumber in his mouth, Ken nodded, trying to appear attentive but not overeager. He'd already figured out that Dave was not a man who talked about his feelings easily.

"My last partner... He couldn't handle Johnny bein'..." He started to wave a hand, then stilled. "Being gay," he finished deliberately. He paused before going on, as if absorbing the laden word. "I couldn't handle him talking about John that way." Dave rubbed his forehead with his knuckles. "I didn't love the guy, but dammit. Ken, we were partners for three years. We were friends. You'd think that'd mean something."

He took a gulp of ice water and stared at Ken as if searching for answers. Ken wished suddenly that he had them.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Prejudices aren't reasonable. You couldn't change him."

 _Can't paint a rainbow and change the world_ , he sighed to himself inwardly.

Dave flipped his bread knife over and over, the heavy utensil thunking mutedly on the checkered tablecloth. "I couldn't change him," he repeated, putting a slight emphasis on the last word. "But if I'd been more... _sure_ , maybe I could have--" He drew his hand back with an angry huff. "I couldn't even argue with him, because I agreed with most of what he said." He shot Ken an apologetic look. "Sorry. I'm not explaining this right."

Ken wasn't in the mood to get really angry today, just bitter. He dug into his salad, cutting an overly large leaf of romaine lettuce in half before putting it in his mouth. He talked through his mouthful, as if distorting the words should lessen the impact of saying them. "You think it's unnatural, against the normal order, something to be ashamed of, something that needs to be 'cured'. Am I right so far?"

Dave, who had been getting more and more uncomfortable, nevertheless nodded. Ken appreciated his candidness.

"But you think of gay people as victims. While your partner thinks of them as moral delinquents."

Shrugging self-consciously, Dave said, "Yeah, I guess." He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. "He was callin' John all these horrible names, and I couldn't even defend him. My best friend in the whole world! Marc acted like I should be _glad_ John died. Like I'd be, I dunno, tainted or something if I'd hung out with Johnny more.

"The more I told him to shut up, the more he wanted to talk about it. I guess he wanted to 'save' me or something. It got so we could hardly stand to look at each other, much less work together." Dave made a 'poof' gesture with both hands. "And that was it. Three years down the tubes."

Ken thought for a moment, then asked, "What if he had apologized, and you both just never talked about the subject again. Could you have kept working with him?" He waited tensely for the answer, not sure why it should matter to him what Dave -- practically a stranger -- would say, but knowing that it was somehow important just the same.

Dave seemed to consider. Then he shook his head, and Ken felt an inexplicable surge of happy approval, which he hurriedly squashed. "I don't think so, not after all the stuff he said. He was my partner, yeah, but John was..." Dave cleared his throat and didn't finish.

"Like your brother. Like your father," Ken remembered.

Dave gave him a sharp look. Then his broad face colored in embarrassment. "I told you that, huh?" He swirled the water in his glass, staring at it instead of at Ken. The lines in his face seemed suddenly drawn with a heavier pen. "My pop died while I was overseas. By the time I got back, my little brother Nicky had taken care of everything. I didn't even know where the funeral was going to be until my cousins picked me up at the airport and drove me straight there. Sat the first day of shiva in my uniform."

"You were in the military?" Ken had already guessed when he'd taken Dave to his studio and the man had stopped to stare at one particular piece.

"Army." He scowled, and his accent thickened. "Wasn't even doin' anything important. Fixing cars, playing sentry. I got the news while changing a flat tire. Can you believe that? I might as well've been home working in my uncle's garage."

Their waiter approached with a water pitcher and an expectant look, but Dave waved him off politely. Ken, remembering his salad, hurried to clean his plate.

"You and your dad were real close, huh?"

"Thick as thieves." Dave grinned, lop-sided. "I love Ma with all my heart, but Pop and me were special."

"I'm sorry. I'm glad you have the memories."

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Great ones."

"Want to share one of them?"

Dave licked his lips. "Maybe some other time."

Ken nodded in acknowledgement. "Are your mom and brother still in New York?"

"Yeah." Dave belatedly took a piece of bread from the basket between them and dipped it in the dish of oil with rough, efficient movements. "Growing up, it was always me and Pop, Nicky and Ma. When Pop died, I was the odd one out. I couldn't stand it. So I cleared out. Came to California, 'cause I heard so many good things about it. And Ma's sister lived here." He smiled, a sad grimace of the lips. "John and Maggie were my next door neighbors."

Ken nodded. He was beginning to get a clearer picture of what had shaped the man he'd met at the Parrot that night. Dave Starsky had had much tragedy in his life, and yet much love, also.

"I had a crush on Maggie," Dave added with a shy, confessional tone. He had a smear of olive oil on his lip. "She was gorgeous. I mean," he added quickly, "she still is, of course. But back then, she was always smiling. So happy and sweet. And she always had _food_."

Ken chuckled. He threw a paper napkin at the other man. "Wipe the drool off your chin, you hedonist."

"You wouldn't be acting that way if you'd ever tasted Margaret Blaine's chicken casserole or her strawberry pie." But Dave took the napkin and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with an exaggerated care that had Ken rolling his eyes.

Their entrees arrived, and they turned their attentions to their stomachs for a while, fresh pies and piping casseroles no doubt on both their minds.

"Hey, Ken." Ken looked up at the pensive tone. Dave was still cutting up his chicken and chewing industriously, but he had a frown on his handsome face. "Why do you think John married her? How could he hurt her like that?"

Resting his fork on the edge of his dish for the moment, Ken sat back and considered his answer. "Lots of reasons, probably," he said slowly. "Maybe he wanted to be 'normal'. Or at least appear to be."

"You sayin' he was using her?" Dave demanded sharply.

Ken thought for a moment. It was difficult to make any sort of statement that would not be critical of either the man's deceased best friend or a woman he'd once had nascent feelings for. He decided to turn the question on Dave. "You saw them together. What do you think?"

Dave unbended enough to shrug. "I thought they loved each other. Always. They were the perfect couple, you know? Everyone thought so."

"Maybe he did marry her because he loved her, but it just didn't work out," Ken suggested quietly.

"No." Dave's denial was immediate. "They were beautiful together. Till the day he died! I'm sure of that. He couldn't fake that."

Ken puzzled that out for a second. Then he took a deliberate drink from his water glass and set it down precisely where the ring of moisture was marked out. "You don't think he could have had feelings for that other man," he concluded out loud.

" _Feelings_?" Dave snorted derisively. "Okay, John had... tendencies that he couldn't do anything about. I get that. So he was getting a little something on the side. He shouldn't've done it. It was stupid and terrible. But he loved Maggie."

"If he loved her that much, then you're right, he should never have hurt her. But he did. So what does that say?"

"You're twisting things around."

"You asked me the question. If you thought you had the answer already, then why did you ask me?"

Dave lowered his own knife and fork, looking confused but explosive, too. "You didn't know John. Some men just can't seem to get by without chasing skirt behind their wives' backs, but John...? I just can't picture it. No matter how much he wanted to get laid. That just wasn't his style."

Ken wasn't so sure about that. Even men with a truckload of fortitude could stray after two decades of dissatisfaction with a spouse. And once a man started, it was hard to stop. But it was true that Starsky knew his friend better than Ken ever could. "Well, then...?"

Scowling darkly, Dave leaned forward to say, low, "John did not have 'feelings' for Whitelaw."

"Whitelaw?" Ken exclaimed, surprise derailing his growing irritation with Dave's stubborn attitude. It had to be a coincidence. Someone with the same name. "Not-- It wasn't Peter Whitelaw? The schoolteacher who was fired?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Ken sat back, mind awhirl. Whitelaw's case had been discussed in angry whispers all up and down the gay circle. There'd been a few protests, which Ken had not attended, but in the end, they hadn't been able to save the man's job.

Luckily, Whitelaw had managed to scrape together what was left of his dignity and build on his experiences to try and help others from the political arena. It was an amazing story. Dave would know the man's history, of course, even though he might not appreciate the courage and perseverance it must have taken Whitelaw to do it.

 _"His lover was off figuring out his new career,"_ David had said that night.

"Jesus, Dave. Whitelaw was running for councilman! His entire life would've been made public. He couldn't have stuck with John if he wanted to. Can't you see they had to break it off?"

"Yeah, 'cause he was really helpin' Johnny when he ran out on him, wasn't he?"

"What does it matter? They were just 'getting a little something' with each other, right?" he said mirroring Dave's sarcasm. "Because gay men can't possibly have feelings."

"Well, whatever! Maybe-- Maybe Johnny did, and the asshole tricked him."

"How do you know it wasn't a mutual choice they made together?"

"How do you know it was?"

"If Whitelaw hadn't lost his job because of stupid prejudice--"

"They'd still be fucking behind Maggie's back?" Dave finished wryly.

Ken choked a bit, then replied, levelly, "Maybe." Dave glared back at him but seemed to find no argument against it. Ken leaned forward and asked softly, "How did you know about Whitelaw? Nobody even knew he was with someone, much less a married man." Reflexively, Ken looked around them. If the tabloids got a hold of this...!

Dave shot him a look that was suddenly wary, and Ken could see him weighing his words, as he hadn't even when talking about his partner and his father. "Maggie told me," he said shortly.

Ken's surprise must have shown, because Dave hurried on anxiously, as if imparting a secret. And indeed, a secret it was.

"After John was murdered, Marc and I went over to his house. We didn't have any clues, you see, and Marc was on me about letting Maggie know the truth about her husband. I was expectin' her to cry or get mad at me. She was mad, at first, but then she just sort of folded up and got real quiet. She said she'd known for a long time that John was gay. She was so... so _sad_.

"She told me to remember that John was 'a good man'. Like she thought I'd change my mind about that. Oh, god, it was horrible, Ken. Marc started in on her, tellin' her John was a sinner and a pervert, and she ought to be glad she was free of him. And she lit into him like the hounds of hell. You should've seen her. She was fantastic."

Ken thought, from the wonder in Dave's eyes, that he almost could see it. He pictured a diminutive woman -- one who baked casseroles and smiled with gentleness in her eyes -- facing off against some brute of a man in a dirty uniform, defending her dead husband against prejudice. Charcoal figures against an orange-red watercolor background...

Dave's fist thumping on the tabletop jerked Ken back to the real world. "John had been fooling around behind her back for six months, and she knew it. And she _defended_ him. Why would he do that to her? Why would she let him?"

A look of utter bewilderment stretched Dave's features before he lowered his head. He looked as hurt as he was angry. He'd been betrayed by the upending of what he'd thought he'd known about his best friend.

Ken looked the stormy man in the eye. "Tell the truth, Dave. Are you more upset that John was having an affair, or because he was having an affair with a man?"

Dave answered in a tone of frustration. "Both. I don't know. Damn it." He sat up straighter and stabbed at the remains of his chicken. "He should've just divorced Maggie if he was that miserable. Save everyone a lotta grief."

"What do you think John would've done after they divorced?" Ken asked quietly. He abandoned his linguini altogether in favor of watching the man across the table from him.

Dave made a face of disgust. "I don't know. Go with... with men, I guess. With Whitelaw."

"You think he could find himself a man? A boyfriend? With his job? He'd be no better off. Worse, being single. It'd have to come out sooner or later what he was."

"Maggie's not some... some _cover_ ," Dave protested, his dark blue eyes incensed.

"No. But if people suspected him, where would that leave her?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"Think about it, Dave. She'd be the dope who married a gay man. She'd be a laughingstock. And a divorcee. _And_ still alone."

"Well, then, he shouldn't've married her in the first place!" Dave answered hotly.

Ken sighed. "No, he shouldn't have. But we don't know the circumstances, do we? Maybe he loved her as best he could. He was your friend, Dave. Was he a good man?"

The startled, defensive squint of Dave's eyes spoke loudly, but his answer was swift. "The best."

"That's what's important, isn't it?"

Dave stared for a moment more, then nodded. He bent over to cut a desultory piece of broccoli, silent.

Ken hesitated. It was his turn to watch his words and measure the man he spoke them to. "I was married. Twice." He didn't talk about that portion of his life much, although it wasn't exactly a secret. Any old rag with his bio in it mentioned his ex-wives.

He smiled as Dave's head jerked up in astonishment. "What? But aren't you...?"

Ken shrugged, not wanting to get into that particular mess. "The first girl was fresh out of high school. I thought-- We both thought we were in love. It didn't last, and it was easy for our parents to split us up." The hurt was slight after all these years. He'd been practically a child then, playing at love.

"My second wife wanted to marry a famous artist." He allowed a wry smile to touch his lips. "I suppose according to some critics, she got that much." He carefully did not explain what he had wanted from Vanessa Hutchinson nee Philler.

Dave was open-mouthed with shock. Recovering slightly, he leaned forward. "So did you...? I mean, did they know?"

"Nancy didn't know." Hell, _he_ hadn't known back then. "Van did but didn't care. And no, I didn't cheat on them. But I wasn't married for very long. You said John and Maggie were together for twenty-two years?"

Dave nodded.

"That's a long time to suppress something like that."

Dave shrugged in agreement, then sighed. "Yeah." His gaze turned bemused. "You should be a detective, with that memory of yours. What else did I tell you while I was out of my head?"

Ken grinned. He had a ready answer: "You told me I had a skinny ass."

Groaning, Dave took a theatrical swill of his water and thumped it down. "Remind me _never_ to get drunk around you again."

***

Ken had just finished directing an elderly couple to the restrooms when Charlie whispered, "Hey. Who's that?"

He was startled to see Dave Starsky striding toward them from the doorway.

"He's cute," Charlie observed.

"He's a cop," Ken shot back

He saw Charlie flinch, just as he once had, but he recovered quickly, and a grin split his thin face. "He's _the_ cop, isn't he? The one you took to bed?"

Ken opened his mouth but didn't have time to say anything before Dave was upon them. He settled for spearing his best friend with an admonishing glare, before turning to the other man. "Hi, Dave. What are you doing here?"

Dave smiled easily. "You told me your show opened. I thought I'd come take a look. Hi, I'm David Starsky," he said to Charlie.

"Hi, David! I've heard a lot about you." Charlie pumped Dave's hand enthusiastically, at the same time shooting Ken a terrifically unsubtle wink.

"O-Oh? You have?" Dave's friendly smile faltered.

"You're a lucky man, you know. Not many people have had the fortune to spend the night in Ken Hutchinson's sweet embrace. Can you tell us how it felt?"

"Charlie," Ken interrupted quickly, saving Dave from having to reply to that. "Don't you have something you'd better be doing? Such as playing in a pit of vipers somewhere?" he finished with gritted teeth.

"You know he's ambidextrous, right?" Charlie continued, not fazed one whit. "Tell him to show you that thing he does with his--"

"Charlie!" Ken nearly shouted, cutting off whatever completely imagined skill or feat of acrobatics was about to come to light.

"Oh, you probably already know about that, anyway," Charlie said airily to Dave, who was staring with eyes about as wide as they could go. "Nice talking to you, Dave, but I've got to run. An artist's friend's work is never done," Charlie tossed off, obviously unrepentant. But he did leave them alone, going to the reception area, presumably to help with guest sign-ins.

Ken turned to Dave, red-faced. "Sorry about that."

"That's... That's okay. I guess you told him what happened at the Parrot, huh?" Dave's eyes were still a little wide. "Um, he knows I'm not... I mean, he didn't think we...?"

"God, no. _Please_ don't worry about him. He's on a crusade to set me up with anyone I so much as stand next to. Failing that, he's out to embarrass me in front of as many people as possible."

"Oh. Uh, good." Dave looked a little more steady now, enough to smile as he said, "That must make your life real interesting."

"Interesting?!" Ken rolled his eyes and looked after his best friend. He sighed fondly. "Yeah, actually." Dave laughed.

"Are you really ambidextrous?"

"Yeah. My handwriting is terrible, but I can draw all right with my left hand." Not that he ever did. He'd had to learn to do a lot of things with his off hand when he'd broken his arm in college. That whole part of his life was something he never wanted to relive again.

Dave grinned, in what was a companionable way, Ken realized, when he said, "My teachers always complained that my handwriting's about as bad with either hand. Mrs. Lewski said it was because I'm a lefty." The man waved his left hand as if to demonstrate. "My Pop said it was because I had ants in my pants."

Ken chuckled appreciatively, a sudden image of Dave as a small boy flashing through his mind. He would bet that the future Bay City cop had been a handful. Dave joined in, in a rueful way that rather confirmed Ken's thoughts. 

Dave cleared his throat and pointed inwards to the gallery proper. "So show me what all this hoopla is about."

Nodding, Ken began guiding him around the collections of works. The displays were self-explanatory, but Ken could provide a few bits of trivia about the artists and occasionally about a specific piece, if he knew the artist personally and they had talked about it.

The exhibition, sponsored by the local Peaceful Alliance group, was a recognition of the armed forces and also the price of war. Most of the pieces were heavy with patriotic symbolism. Some were very flagrantly anti-war. Ken was nervous around those at first, knowing the other man had a history of service, but Dave didn't seem to mind. They ended with the section showcasing his own work.

"You've seen most of these already," he said. He tried not to squirm as Dave nevertheless looked over each piece with that intense, analyzing stare of his. He'd never quite gotten over some discomfort when watching someone view his work.

Dave stopped again in front of the piece that had seemed to so captivate him the day he'd visited Ken's studio. Ken had titled it "Pain". It was a simple silhouette of a man, with negative hollows for stern eyes, a grim mouth, and medals studding his chest in negative, like bullet holes. He stood straight and tall. Proud. Behind him was a misty depth of red lines.

"Rain," Dave said. He stood at parade rest. Ken wondered if he was even conscious of that. "It's like it's raining inside of him but he can't show it, because he's trying so hard to be strong. Maybe he even thinks he is that strong. I didn't see much action myself, but I watched all the guys move in and out of the depot. I saw a lot of guys like that, you know. Cryin' blood on the inside."

The description was far more poetic than Ken would have expected out of the man. It was also spot on to what Ken had been attempting to express. But his creation had come out of pictures and articles and his imagination, not out of the jungles like this man before him.

"Dave," Ken confessed gently, so there wouldn't be any misunderstandings. "I never fought. I was at home, holding signs."

The other man turned to look at him, eyes still unfocused as if waking out of a dream. He blinked and then shrugged. "Yeah, I figured. It's cool. I mighta done the same thing if I was you." He quirked a smile. "And you woulda done what I did if you'd been me."

If Ken had been drafted, he thought he would have upheld his duty to his country. That was another difference he'd had with his fellows on the picket lines. It wasn't the soldiers he'd been protesting or even the idea of war, really, but rather the management of this particularly senseless conflict. But how did Dave know that? For all he knew, Ken had been one of the people who'd spit on him when he got back.

"You can't know that," he demurred out loud.

He was unprepared when Dave raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah," he said seriously. "I do."

***

Dave was an intriguing man. And somehow trustworthy. And honest. There weren't enough people like him in the world, Ken felt.

When the cop called him a few days later and asked to meet at Filmore Park, Ken agreed without a second thought. By the time he showed up, Dave was on a park bench with a root beer in his hand and another held out to him. Ken didn't normally drink soda pop, but he twisted it open and took a long cool swallow.

And waited.

It didn't take long. Dave had obviously been ready. "I keep thinking. If John had told me he was gay. Maybe things woulda been better. He must've been scared all the time of people finding him out. I could've shown him it wasn't that bad. I won't lie, it might've been weird at first. But I would've still been his friend. And he would've still been my best friend in the whole world."

Ken noticed with a sense of pride that Dave sounded sure about that.

Dave took a sip of his soda and gazed out over the park. "John and I used to come here. Play football. Sail ships. Watch the people and just talk." He lifted those arresting blue eyes to Ken's. "Ken, I... I'd like to be friends with you."

Caught by surprise, Ken didn't answer for a moment. Then he smiled and said, "You know what? I'd like that, too. Very much." He saw relief and tentative joy reflected back at him, and some of the ever-present grief seemed to melt away from David's eyes.

They clinked bottles and drank.

Then they sat side by side for a long time, just watching the people go by.

  
END Part Two.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:  
> [Nancy](http://community.livejournal.com/starskyhutch911/437348.html) (Starsky & Hutch), by kuonji  
> [Figure-Ground](http://community.livejournal.com/sga_flashfic/466780.html) (Stargate Atlantis) , by kuonji  
> [Stakeout](http://archiveofourown.org/works/823164) (Batman), by kuonji  
> [Candy Apple Dreams](http://daveandkensdiner.com/viewstory.php?sid=2&chapter=1) (Starsky & Hutch), by LilyK


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